Three Things Cannot Be Long Hidden:
the sun, the moon, & some kind of antiquity yearning which slowly murdering me—that unfortunately can’t be domesticated—o untamed desire to hug you. right off, right now—to assist me avoid a void who breeds bewilderment beneath my angsts—right off, right now … o we are so far, yet so close. bound me, crucifix me inside your left lateral or in the midst of your maternal soul—right off, right now. fold the space, bend the time. o hug me, come to me. crawling, shuffling, rolling, walking, running, teleporting, moving, howsoever—at speed of light or speed of sound—no matter how. right off, right now. o baby, hug me.
(2022)
–
I’ll be ∴ u ∵ I.F.L.Y
Doctor Strange: “I love u in every universe.”
Modal Realism: “I love u in every possible world.”
Me + Furor Poeticus: “I love u in every universe, in every alphabeth of my verses—in every possibility of gravitational singularity-spacetime singularity: a condition in which my gravity to u is so intense that spacetime itself breaks down catastrophically inside my poetry.
(2022)
–
The Myth of Phoenix
I
in the stomach of time
clock tickling, clock ringing
arouse Phoenix from
his ashes form
as if bringing tidings
on the rustling hourglass
ask for the wind-ask for the past
age of stone turns to copper
in the hall of spiteful sun city
which may unceasingly
spell reincarnation metaphors
& our futility.
II
500 years, Phoenix
learned nothing except to
end the angst of the flames
squirm then ask for eternality
right in the heart of earth’s mortality
o immortality spells
desperately sought, since ancient times
Prometheus steals fire of knowledge
of the gods-goddess on the edge
of Olymphus ascendancy;
Phoenix, fully fell sorrowfully.
III
Phoenix dies many times, reborn
—was gutted, & scattered
such as speck blown away by typhoon;
& for his death
the umpteenth time, now,
the tongue of fire is trying to
spawn the seeds of language
without a shred of incredulity:
“This evil world, it turns out
more hellish than hell itself.
o when the karmachain was at
death’s door, he wrapped his body
on his face—& built a nest
of wood, then burned it,
let it dissipate until to dust,
& from above the tomb,
Phoenix was born in a new form.
& everything repeats themselves
—would be like that perpetuity.”
: o camus, o sisyphus
if every leaf was a flower
—isn’t autumn nothing
but the second spring?
IV
“god, why were my reflect designed
like a heavy mace for a flimsy mirror?”
—murmured Phoenix, who was too
tired to live eternally, such as agony.
(2022)
–
Let’s Play Melancholic Music before Minor Tones from Danzig Knock Our Door
“man is a conscious & intelligent being—they can survive whatever it takes, sacrifice, & endure all the anguish as long as it has a meaning.”
but what if the meaning of life is: to see life without eyes—but by means of melancholic music; to hear life without ear—but by means of melancholic music; to smell life without nose—but by means of melancholic music; to savour life without tongue—but by means of melancholic music; to feel life without skin—but by means of melancholic music.
but what if the meaning of life is just to keep alive—thus we can play melancholic music? thus we can dancing—by means of melancholic music; thus we can stop seeking about meaning; thus we can console the endless cycle of joy & sorrow; thus we can forget how grieve the death—how brief life was … thus we can … postponed anything, escape time, & just vibing.
: without melancholic music, life inevitably be a sins & the remnant just constant suffering.
(2022)
–
Love is A Brightly Colored Poisonous Dart Frog that We Immediately Perceive as Dangerous once We Touch It
yes, it looks interesting, cute, & adorable … but it has enough chemical compounds—to change ten million color spectrums, so it’s only pale blue like western philosophy … then disrupts the lacrimal system in the eye to transform the grammar of tears into tear;
it was able to kill ten thousand innocent men, then turn them into language-composing machines that fabricated tens of billions of myths, creeds, & odes about how love affairs turn spring into a second fall, turn major notes into minor notes, turn realism into surrealism, turning thoughts & feelings into the center of the archives busiest all night long;
just by touching it—just by touching that damned creature … love is a brightly colored poisonous dart frog that we immediately perceive as dangerous once we touch it.
(2022)
–
Odes to Søren Kierkegaard
I
the most painful state of being is meeting the right person at the wrong time, then realizing you are the wrong person—& the time is still ticking.
II
loving someone, & we will regret it. not loving someone, we will regret it. loving someone or not loving someone, somehow we will regret it either way. regretting something is an inevitable state.
III
to stay alive is all about cynic to the naive things—who said by one foolish that is too optimistic. but loving life is an endless war of how to kill regret, which unfortunately can’t be dead.
IV
we can stab our arteries
to divert all of the misery &
try to forget—but we can’t run
from the inescapable of regret.
(2022)
–
امور فاطی
how lovely it means
if we can imagine,
be friends, & love sadness
with sincerity, with madness,
with bravery—till it burns
our left chest, crumbles our bones, excorticates our skin, & tears out
our last flesh—even if … even if …
we consciously lean our bodies
& realize … that life is still a mess.
(2022)
–
On Absurdism
sometimes
we
forget
to
appreciate
the
little things
that
make
life
worth living.
(2022)
*****
Editor: Ghufroni An’ars
